8:53 a.m.
“BET-TE! BET-TE!”
They stormed the Miracle Mile. They commandeered parking lots and blitzed Christmas shoppers. Buy war bonds. Meet Miss Davis. She’s Aunt Sam—and she wants YOU!
The late-shopping rush. Hollywood. War fever.
The big department stores ran down Wilshire. Desmond Silverwood’s, Coulter’s. The lots ran straight behind them. Platforms were set up by the exits. Bette stood above the crowds and worked off microphones.
She wowed the fans. Army color guards flanked her. Cops monitored the bond-purchase lines. Bette shook everyone’s hand. Bette posed for photos. MPs handled the pledge slips and cash.
Beth and Tommy stuck close to Bette. Dudley stood not too close. Bette deadpanned him. Last night shrouded them.
His hand hurt wicked bad. Claire picked glass out of the cuts for two hours. She mummified his hand. He couldn’t touch her with it. They made love awkwardly.
He put the onus on a cop’s bash. He heard a grand joke and squeezed his glass too hard. The Red Empress seemed skeptical.
They discussed their Mexican plans. They talked blue streaks. She gave him a painkilling pill. They fell out, entwined.
He left her bed at 7:00. She inquired about his day. He said he’d been assigned to guard Bette Davis. Skeptic Claire roared.
“It was her I smelled on you Sunday. I met her once, at a premiere. I remember her perfume.”
He laughed. Claire grabbed an atomizer and marked him with her scent.
Dudley watched the crowd. Cops linked arms and held back the crowd. Silverwood’s was Stop no. 2. Five hundred people showed up for Desmond’s. Diehards slept in the lot overnight.
“BET-TE! BET-TE!”
The crowd shouted her name. A crowd shouted his name yesterday. Bette deadpanned him. You inconvenienced me.
“BET-TE! BET-TE!”
He worked the store cop’s phone back at Desmond’s. He called Huey. Huey reported. Huey said Tojo Tom was still tucked in tight. He talked to Tojo Tom. He quizzed him per Carlos Madrano’s dope and cash stash. Tojo credibly reported and begged to be sprung. He said, “Merry Christmas, lad. You’ll be released at New Year’s.”
He started seeing it. The raid itself. Let’s utilize those Jap subs glimpsed in Baja.
Call-Me-Jack was sub-fixated. He feared attacks off the L.A. coast. Dudley called Call-Me-Jack and snow-jobbed him.
Chief, I fear sub raids. Let me liaise with the Staties. I’ll take my boys down.
It all clicked his way then. Fate intervened.
Carlos Madrano was sub-fixated. He’d called Call-Me-Jack. Those Baja sub spottings spooked him. Call-Me-Jack played right in.
“Go down on the QT, Dud. Don’t tell Carlos you’re there. Chart scuttlebutt on the sub front. Ellis Loew presents to the grand jury today, and we’ll get our indictment on Monday. You’ll be commissioned at New Year’s, and I know you want a Mexican posting. Lay the groundwork and poke some señoritas. Let me know what you hear.”
Roger, Chief. I’ll do just that.
“BET-TE! BET-TE! BET-TE!”
She deadpanned him. You inconvenienced me. She would not look his way.
Beth played to him. She kept glancing over. His hand throbbed. The crowd yelled for Bette.
Cops walked stiffs up to meet her.
She smiled at each and every one.
She posed for pictures and dispensed hugs.
She was an American. He was immigrant scum. She was native-born Protestant. He was papist rabble. It was her war—not his.
He thought of the Red Empress. He thought of Mexico and money. Schoolchildren stormed the platform. They waved American flags on sticks.